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About the Book
Welcome to the City, London’s most prestigious square mile, where finance reigns and Oliver King is a rising prince.
I used to rule the world.
There might be wolves on Wall Street, but there were crocodiles in Canary Wharf. Some of us craved money. Some of us craved power.
I liked money, and power had its advantages, but what I really wanted was to excel, to surpass the men who came before me. I never cared much for love and romance until I met Alexis.
I could feel it the very moment she walked into the interview, with her outspoken charm and vivacious personality. She cast all the others in shadow, made me laugh when life held no humour. Our friendship should have remained professional, but it wasn’t long before the lines started to blur.
You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men? Well, I never foresaw where my plans would lead, and only in my darkest hour did I finally see the light…
You can have all the money and prestige in the world and still be the poorest man alive. And love, well, I hate to use a tired old cliché, but love can be the thing that truly sets you free.
Welcome to the City, London’s most prestigious square mile, where finance reigns and Oliver King is a rising prince.
I used to rule the world.
There might be wolves on Wall Street, but there were crocodiles in Canary Wharf. Some of us craved money. Some of us craved power.
I liked money, and power had its advantages, but what I really wanted was to excel, to surpass the men who came before me. I never cared much for love and romance until I met Alexis.
I could feel it the very moment she walked into the interview, with her outspoken charm and vivacious personality. She cast all the others in shadow, made me laugh when life held no humour. Our friendship should have remained professional, but it wasn’t long before the lines started to blur.You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men? Well, I never foresaw where my plans would lead, and only in my darkest hour did I finally see the light…
You can have all the money and prestige in the world and still be the poorest man alive. And love, well, I hate to use a tired old cliché, but love can be the thing that truly sets you free.
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Excerpt
What he said made me curious, so I went on, “What do you do to
deal with the stress?”
He gave me a wan smile, and there was something in his
expression that struck me as sad somehow. Rubbing at his chin, he answered,
“Hmmm, when I’m stressed out…a nice glass of top shelf whiskey usually does the
trick.”
“That makes sense,” I said and walked around his desk before
taking a seat in front of him. “You know, I always thought it was poor people
who did drugs, to escape the bleakness of their realities. Now I’m thinking
maybe the practice is most common at the top and the bottom of the
ladder. Perhaps the best place to be is somewhere in the middle.”
“Not necessarily. I’m at the top. Do I look high to you?”
The deadpan way in which he said it made me laugh. I leaned
forward and teased, “I’m not sure. Let me have a look at your pupils.”
Surprising me, King rose from his seat, walked around his desk and came to
kneel in front of me. Before I knew it his face was mere inches from mine.
“Go ahead,” he said, voice low.
Whoa, Oliver King’s face right up close…I wasn’t sure what to do
with that. I guess he didn’t realise the effect he had on this very non-gay
lady, because he seemed entirely unselfconscious. His eyes were beautiful, his
lashes long and golden, his skin smooth with a hint of stubble around his jaw,
and his lips were just…I had no words. Sculpted and masculine was probably the
only way I could think to describe them.
I realised I was staring at those lips a little too closely when
my eyes flicked back to his. A moment ago he was smiling, but now that smile
was transforming into a thoughtful frown.
I cleared my throat. “Your pupils look fine.”
King exhaled a small breath and I watched as his attention went
from my eyes to my cheeks, nose, chin, and then finally to my lips. He looked
like he was about to say something when suddenly Gillian’s voice filled the
room.
“Mr King, Jenson Gellar is on the phone. Shall
I put him through?”
About the Author
L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation, and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.
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